Sparked Up Like A Book Of Matches
by rayychel infinity
Summary: "It's your present," he says, lips pressed to Blaine's stubbly cheek. "You're eighteen now. I'm eighteen. That means we can make a special… video."


**DISCLAIMER:** I do not own _Glee_, Fox does. And Ryan Murphy. Title from "Summer Hair = Forever Young" by The Academy Is...  
>Sort of future!fic in which both Kurt and Blaine are eighteen and this is how they celebrate.<br>Warnings: 69ing, slight swearing, videotaping sex for personal purposes. Basically, PWP! With this I'm envisioning slightly more experienced, slightly less awkward Kurt and Blaine, where they're completely comfortable with each other.

**xxxxXxxxx**

"Happy eighteenth birthday, Blaine," Kurt says as he removes his (really soft and moisturized) palms from where they were covering Blaine's eyes. They're standing in Kurt's room and everything looks relatively normal save for the tall black tripod positioned near the foot of Kurt's bed. It looks out of place in the Moroccan-inspired room with its sleek black legs and silver camera perched on top. Blaine raises a dark eyebrow and says, "What's the camera for?"

Kurt only grins widely and pulls Blaine in for what appears to be a hug but is apparently just an excuse for Kurt to slowly break down Blaine's self-control. Kurt's arms are tight around his shoulders, the curve of his neck smelling like Calvin Klein, and before he speaks he traces the tip of his tongue gently around the shell of Blaine's ear, eliciting a low moan and a press of the hips where Kurt can feel Blaine slowly hardening. "It's your present," he says, lips pressed to Blaine's stubbly cheek. "You're eighteen now. I'm eighteen. That means we can make a special… _video_."

Blaine audibly swallows and tightens his grip on Kurt's thin waist. His transfer to McKinley at the beginning of the year had been crucial in moving along the physical aspects of their relationship. For Kurt, seeing Blaine at lunch, in his classes, walking down the goddamned hall, was torture. He didn't have the uniform anymore and he'd ditched the hair gel towards the end of the summer at Kurt's urging that, if the slushies should come (and they did, with a vengeance), having _that much_ product in his hair would only make the process worse.

It was kind of a lie, but it had nice results, many of them having to do with the merits of having shaggy curls to tangle his fingers in as they skipped lunch and took advantage of an empty classroom.

For Blaine, seeing Kurt at his finest, when he could walk proudly like he owned the place, where he didn't blend in with a sea of other boys and could be his theatrical self in glee club, was amazing. Their first week of school together had Blaine falling even further in love, and sure, the slushies were worth it when they held hands in the hallways or when they sat close together on the lunches they didn't skip. The near-beatdown they'd almost experienced when he'd grabbed Kurt's arm as he was about to head into class, spun him around, and kissed him solidly on the mouth because Kurt had worn a form-fitting v-neck and high-water jeans that _just so happened _to be the ones that Blaine had accidentally left at Kurt's the previous Friday had been worth it because his boyfriend had been _wearing his clothes_.

Now it's February and the taunts and physical threats have petered down a little bit. Kurt had turned eighteen in January and Blaine has a gut feeling that Kurt has been planning all of this for awhile. Blaine puts a little space between their bodies—it's killing him, but he'd much rather kiss Kurt than rub off against him at this point—before angling his head up and pressing his lips to Kurt's, bringing one hand up to cup the smooth curve of Kurt's jaw.

There's a smile against his mouth before the kiss deepens and Blaine's moaning and Kurt's moaning as tongues twist and press against teeth and the soft flesh of the inside of cheeks. "You wanna film yourself fucking me?" Blaine asks, voice wrecked as he bunches the back of Kurt's shirt in his hand. Kurt makes a whining noise in protest but doesn't move to slap Blaine's hand away and this is _progress_, this is Blaine turning him on so much that he doesn't even care about the state of his clothes, even if the shirt he's wearing is last season and a little worse for wear by now.

"I want to film you begging," Kurt says in response, nipping at Blaine's lower lip and rolling his hips down, hardness against hardness. "I want to always be reminded of how much of a cockslut you are."

And since their first time—back of a car, how cliché; Kurt hadn't been too happy, and Blaine wasn't exactly pleased about it either, but it was somehow so perfect and the lack of proper lubrication and cramped space made it that much more real—they've gotten a lot more comfortable with each other. Blaine, who's never really had a problem with stating exactly what he wants, in bed or otherwise, had initiated dirty talk sometime around the third time they'd had sex.

Kurt had turned scarlet at Blaine's suggestion of _fuck, Kurt, fuck me harder, fuck me so hard that I forget my own name when I come_ but hadn't faltered and had done just that, making Blaine come so hard that splashes of his semen made it nearly to his shoulder. Kurt had been in slack-jawed disbelief when Blaine had stopped writhing and moaning.

The idea of making a sex tape—and now Blaine can really feel like an adult, only pausing to hope that he doesn't turn out like Kim Kardashian or Paris Hilton—is as frightening as it is arousing because while he trusts that Kurt isn't going to put it on the internet, there's always the possibility someone could somehow find out about it. Blaine's been at McKinley long enough; he knows all there is to know about Jacob Ben Israel and knows that, for all his annoying, stalkerish qualities, he's scarily good at getting the dirty details of nearly every student in the school. The last thing Blaine needs on his rap sheet before he even graduates is "amateur gay pornstar."

Blaine says, as a deterrent as Kurt sucks a mark low on his neck that will be covered up nicely with one of Blaine's many thick scarves, "What if we have children someday and they discover this tape?"

He says it mainly because he's trying to avoid the actual production for a bit and partly because Kurt captures his mouth in a sweet kiss, diverging from the hot, messy ones they'd been sharing earlier, and says, "Then we'd have some explaining to do and, depending on the age, have to give the world's most awkward sex talk." He's far enough away that Blaine can focus on his face and see the light shining in his eyes at a mention of a life beyond Lima, a life in the future when it's just them and a house and maybe a few kids.

Blaine sees it in Kurt's eyes all the time that he's afraid that this is going to end when they graduate, that it was only a high school fling, but Blaine knows what he felt when he said "I love you" at the end of their junior year. He's never letting Kurt go, even when they fight about the rent and the bills and whose turn it is to cook dinner that night (see: who has to phone a take-out place). And maybe someday, in the future, they'll have huge fights wherein one of them will storm out the door and the other will doze restlessly on the couch, jerking up at every sound in the hopes that it's the door opening, but it just means that they're real and they're human. Blaine would drop everything in a heartbeat to be with Kurt.

Kurt's lips are sweet beneath his, soft with a rigorous chapstick routine, and his skin is even softer when Blaine's hands slide up underneath his shirt and skirt up and down his sides. "You know," he says as he slides Kurt's shirt off and ducks his head to kiss at the open expanse of milky white skin, "when we're old and wrinkly, we can watch this and remember a time when we were young and hot."

"I don't think there'll ever be a time when you're not hot," Kurt gasps when Blaine's tongue flicks over his nipple and he rubs the other between rough fingertips. "Fuck, Blaine, s-stop. I need to—need to turn on the camera."

Blaine pulls back and winks, grabbing them hem of his shirt to drag it up and off, mussing up his hair as he does so. And he _has_ let it get rather long this year, some of the curls tumbling down the back of his neck and curling over the tops of his ears. Kurt keeps insisting that it's sexy and Brittany keeps insisting that she wants to know if he's part Scottish terrier.

The telltale _ding_ of the camera starting sounds and he looks at the bed to see that Kurt's kneeling on it, jeans unbuttoned and hands in his back pockets. His lower lip is caught between his teeth and his eyes keep flickering from Blaine's eyes, his lips, his chest, his _groin_. Blaine can't get on the bed fast enough, unbuttoning his own jeans along the way.

Kurt's bare shoulders are smooth under his palms, the muscles quivering and flexing in his back as Blaine pull him closer, shamelessly rubbing against him as he kisses him with all he's got. If it's going to be on tape Blaine's going to give the best performance that he possibly can. The setting, the way they're kissing open-mouthed and with a lot of tongue, is so different from their usual fare. This is like nearly every porn flick that Blaine's bothered to see, the good ones that you actually have to download instead of just visiting some seedy website, and he wonders if Kurt was lying to him when he said that he still didn't watch porn.

Blaine goes from curious to not giving a shit when Kurt's hands slide down the back of his loosened jeans with ease, palms cupping his ass and squeezing. Blaine squeaks and then moans, rutting forward, grabbing Kurt's hair in his fist and pulling, manhandling him until he tilts his head back with a throaty moan. Blaine takes advantage of the open skin, lays kisses and bites, trails his tongue from under the jaw to behind the ear, tugging on the lobe with his teeth.

"On your back," Kurt says, flipping their positions so that Blaine is the one with his back to the headboard and his front to the camera. He steadfastly tries to ignore the blinking red light, knowing that no one _wants_ to look at the camera in sex tapes. When Blaine's back hits the pillows Kurt makes quick work of both pairs of their jeans, tugging them down and off and to the floor faster than Blaine thought possible. All Kurt has on now is a pair of tight cerulean briefs, the fabric darkened in a tiny spot where the head of Kurt's cock is.

Blaine swallows audibly, pulse quickening and eyes darkening and Kurt's mouth turns upward in a smirk. He straddles Blaine's hips and rakes his nails through the copious amount of chest hair, red lines zigzagging along his skin. Blaine arches up into the sting, hissing, and he's never hated underwear more than he does now. Kurt's not even _bothering_ to taken them off either, and it's absolutely torturous the way he's rubbing against Blaine and kissing down his torso. "Nngh, _Kurt_," Blaine whines, hands grasping at Kurt's thighs. "Please."

Kurt makes a big show of rolling his eyes and straightening up, saying, "'Please' what? I'm afraid that I don't know what you mean."

Oh, so it's a challenge then. Blaine's eyes spark and he pushes his hips up, catching Kurt off-guard and making him gasp loudly. He says, "You know what I want. I want _you_."

Unashamed, he says, "I want your cock in my mouth and then up my ass. You know how I like it, Kurt. You know that I like being on my hands or knees or bent double until I can't breathe."

Briefs are lost seconds later with an almost animal-like quality and Blaine will never stop appreciating naked Kurt, the clean lines of his body and the lack of hair until you reach the soft, light brown thatch of hair above his cock that's always neatly trimmed, and thinking back to the first time that they saw each other naked Blaine had been surprised; Kurt struck him as more of a "bald" kind of guy. For a month or so Blaine had gone through that phase himself, just to see what it was like, and he regrets that it was before he'd ever been intimate because he's sure something about it would have been fantastic with another guy. As it was, his genetics made for some rigorous upkeep and he simply got sick of it.

Not that he wouldn't mind trying it again sometime.

Blaine still wants to suck Kurt off, wouldn't mind having his throat fucked again either, but he's suddenly struck with the overwhelming urge to blow him while _being_ blown. It is his birthday, after all.

"Kurt, I really want to… to sixty-nine you," he says in a rushed, breathy voice. "Is that okay?"

"Why are you still asking me that?" Kurt says, already rolling off of Blaine's body and sprawling out on the bed. Blaine shrugs, says, "Just making sure," before he's turning around and straddling Kurt's chest, feeling strangely self-conscious as he leans down and brackets Kurt's hips with his arms. This is a bit more effort than he'd thought it'd be, especially using one hand to hold himself upright and the other to grip Kurt's cock. But it's so worth it for the little moans Kurt is making as Blaine tongues the slit, dipping to collect the moisture there, before swirling around the head.

Blaine jerks when Kurt takes him into his mouth, moans loudly around Kurt's cock when Kurt cups his balls. He doesn't think about how weird or how hot is it to be doing this, pays no attention to the shaking of his arm as he rests all of his weight on it in order to pump Kurt's cock with his other hand. It's a lot different from this position, Kurt's cock angling weirdly in his mouth and laying differently on his tongue, but he's sure that Kurt's thinking the same thing. Blaine can't stop the full-body shudder when he sucks hard on the head of Kurt's cock and Kurt moans, the sound traveling up through him and igniting the beginning of the end.

Kurt's trailing little licks down the shaft, running his tongue along the veins before his mouth is on Blaine's sac, pressing small, feather light kisses to the soft skin that make Blaine whine and push back slightly.

Blaine isn't even bothering with technique anymore, doesn't care that there's so much saliva pooling around his hand and that he's making these slurping-sucking noises that would make any pornstar proud. He lets out a muffled yelp when Kurt slides the dry pad of his thumb over his asshole as he sucks one of Blaine's balls into his mouth, then the other, and this has to stop _now_ because Kurt's too good with his mouth and it'll all be over way too soon.

"Fuck, Kurt, stop," he gasps. "I'm gonna come."

"You know I don't care about swallowing."

Kurt's voice is a little muffled and Blaine laughs this hysterical laugh. "_No_, just, I don't want to come unless you're fucking me. I need to feel you in me, Kurt."

"Why didn't you say so?" Kurt slithers out from under him, keeping a palm flat on Blaine's lumbar region to keep him like that, and digs in his bedside drawer for lube and a condom. The camera light is still blinking when Blaine glances over at it, reminding him that this is all still happening and that this encounter will be preserved long after they're both dead. Blaine's cock twitches and for some stupid reason he just wants to leak this to the student body to show them that the resident queers have better sex than probably anyone else around.

Kurt slides one finger in without any teasing; Blaine gasps and pushes forward, then back. A second finger is added, followed by a third, and by now Blaine's legs are spaced wide and he's moaning freely, electric tendrils racing through his body. He hears the sound of the condom wrapper, the noises as Kurt rolls it on and slicks himself up, and that's all the warning he gets before Kurt's pushing in roughly, burying himself to the hilt. His hands grip tightly onto Blaine's hips.

"Shit!" Blaine's back tightens and goes taut, hands clenching into the sheets as the burn and stretch radiates as his body tries to adjust. Kurt draws back, pushes back in, just as a test, and Blaine moans, the sound deep in his register, and he can't help but reach a hand back, just feeling, running the tips of his fingers along where Kurt's cock has him stretched. He hears Kurt's intake of breath and he knows it's corny but he can't help but say, "This is when I feel the most complete, you know."

His hand falls back down to the bed to support his weight. Kurt's response is to thrust harder, faster, until Blaine is rocking and moaning, whining and begging under his breath. Blaine's sure that he looks positively wrecked, and it sounds a little narcissistic but he really, _really _wants to watch himself on the tape, see just exactly what he looks like when Kurt's buried deep enough to make his toes curl and his throat to become sore from moaning and begging. Kurt changes angles, brushes the head of his cock against Blaine's prostate and by then he's almost gone, moaning fading into panting and little noises of exertion. One of Kurt's hands grips onto his shoulder, fingers digging in a little as he rolls his hips forward and up, and Blaine can hear his desperate panting, feel the quivering in his fingertips as he straddles the precipice. Blaine turns his head to the side, eyes half-lidded and mouth dropped open, and then Kurt is leaning forward and sloppily kissing the corner of Blaine's mouth.

Blaine gasps when that hand moves and clutches onto his hair and tugs his head backwards, the noise strangled and choked and the painful scalp stimulation, coupled with the inability to breathe properly and the smacking of skin, the knowledge that it's Kurt's hips against his ass, Kurt's balls slapping against his skin, sends him over the edge.

Kurt isn't far behind, and when he comes into the condom it's with a reverent whisper of Blaine's name, like he can't even bring himself to make a louder noise. "Oh, god, I love you," he gasps when he pulls out, stripping off the condom and tying it before wrapping it in a tissue and depositing it in a trashcan. Eighteen or not, Kurt's still breaking the house rules of "no sex until you're thirty."

"Have I told you lately that you're the best boyfriend ever?" Blaine asks.

Kurt arches an eyebrow. "No, but could this have anything to do with the wet spot on my comforter that I'm now going to have to surreptitiously wash?"

"Maybe," Blaine says with a small smile. "Maybe it's because this is the best birthday gift anyone's ever given me."

"I know it's a little selfish," Kurt says, "but it's really for the both of us."

"Without you there would have been no need for such an awesome coming-of-age present. So no, it's not selfish."

Blaine wonders when they became such a married couple, but then he thinks forward, to a time when Ohio is just a visit a few times a year, and it's just him and Kurt and a NYC apartment. His eighteen-year-old self sees his twenty-something-year-old self with a simple silver wedding band on, one that matches twenty-something-year-old Kurt's.

The vision is wistful and tangles his stomach in a good way. They're just getting their practicing in early.

Blaine stands to shut off the camera.


End file.
